


The Devil's Mafia

by Waynesgrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood and Gore, Dark!Matt, Deception, Gore, M/M, Mild Language, Mobster!Matt, Stalking, Teacher!Foggy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:39:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If there is anyone, other than my father, who is more capable to do this, then tell me. Because the only other option I see, is you, Matt.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil's Mafia

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to take a quick sec to thank you all for all of your kind words and feedback, it all means so fucking much to me! And thank you to Blaidd who draws such beautiful works. I am eternally grateful and blessed. 
> 
> This started out with the intentions of being a hardcore mafia fic and then was like no Hannah Montana best of both worlds CHILL IT OUT TAKE IT SL-
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> Matt is ten years older than Foggy in this fic.   
> Matt started working for Foggy's father when he was 18 and Foggy was 8.  
> Foggy is 26 at the start, Matt is 36, and then the rest of the fic they're 30 and 40.

Foggy Nelson is kneeling on the black tiled floor of the infirmary room, hands tightly holding his fathers weak and frail ones. No words were spoken, but both watched each other with their entire focus, eyes shining with emotion that will never be said aloud. Foggy blinks when the tears welling up in his eyes cloud his vision, and warms tears drop down his cheeks, only to be quickly replaced by fresh ones. His heart is heavy, caught in his throat and hanging in his gut simultaneously. Filled up with emotions so raw and red he feels like he might die himself.

It breaks Foggy's heart whenever he feels his hand being squeezed slightly, seeing a man who was once so strong and seemingly invincible become so weak so quickly. Each squeeze a reminder of what's to come.

It's been years since he's seen or talked with his father. Once he was eighteen, he got out and left for school, never looking back. He had felt trapped then. Living a life he never wanted and felt wrong being a part of. But for men like his father, they lived and thrived for the ins and outs of this world. Of the bloodshed and bullets. His father had understood why he had left, and maybe that's why this hurts so much. Because his father knew this life wasn't for him, so he never bothered to tell Foggy of his condition. Never tried to make him come back, never gave him a real reason to, anyway. His father knew that if he gave Foggy any reason to think he was as sick as he was, Foggy would have dropped his life and came back. Back to the place that held happiness, but was everything Foggy never wanted.

Foggy had to find out from his father's right hand man, and wasn't that a pleasant conversation.

“It's all yours, Franklin.” Foggy swallows the emotion that's hurting his throat. His father sounds so tired and Foggy wants to tell him to just let go. That it'll be okay.

“I don't want this.” Foggy says, his voice barely a whisper, but still cracking from emotion.

His father gives him a small pained smile, and says, “I know. Do with it what you want. But it is yours now.”

\--

He walks out the room with dead eyes. His shoulders held back, chin up, back straight, and a heavy hurt in his heart. He sees the men on either side of the door stand up, and he can feel their eyes on his face. He knows he doesn't have to tell them. They know.

When the machines flat lined he felt like nothing was real. He just knelt there, staring at his fathers still face for what felt like ages. It wasn't until Claire placed her hands on his shoulders and coaxed him up and away, that he left.

“Mr. Nelson?” One asks cautiously, almost afraid. It makes Foggy want to laugh.

“Get me Mr. Murdock.” he says, his voice flat and lifeless. “I don't care if he's busy. Get him. It's important.”

\--

He's looking out the window that takes up an entire wall in his fathers office. The view has always been beautiful. The window a perfect picture frame for this view of New York. He feels his stomach swirl with sadness and he sighs for what feels like the thousandth time since his father's passing. He wonders if there's something wrong with him for not feeling more, but figures he's just too numb to his own emotions right now for any real kind of hurt and realization.

“Mr. Nelson.” A voice says as there's a knock on the door. Foggy turns and sees Matt slip into the room, closing the door behind him. The man looks well, like he hasn't aged a day since Foggy left almost ten years ago. Still dressed up in his usual dark grey suit with a black dress shirt and black accents. He wonders if the man has ever worn anything else.

“Matt, please, it's Foggy. I'm not my father.”

“My apologies, Foggy.” Matt says with the slight bow of his head. He makes his way over to where Foggy is, tapping his cane on the ground has he walks. Foggy hears the cane hit the leg of the chair set in front of the desk, and Matt stops. He places his hands on the back of the chair and leans forward against it, his red tinted gaze focused in Foggy's general direction.

They don't speak for a few moments, Foggy content to look out the window with Matt watching him.

“I'm sorry, Foggy.” Matt says after a while, and Foggy nods, not bothering to convey that action to Matt, too caught up in himself to really care at the moment. “Your father was a good man. He meant a lot to many people.”

That makes Foggy smile. It's thin and sad, but it's a smile all the same. His father was a good man, at least to those he trusted and were loyal to him. He knows his father loved him and his mother with a fierceness Foggy could only be grateful for. But his father was not a good man outside of husband and dad.

“You've been by his side longer than anyone else I know.” Foggy begins, never taking his eyes off of New York. He doesn't think he can look at Matt and say this, the emotions are too strong. “And it's no secret that this business is not what I want.”

“I know. Your father spent many nights wondering what he could possibly do to make you come back and work for him. To him. And even though you didn't go far, he respected your wishes.”

“This isn't what I want.” Foggy says, ignoring what he was just told. “But I know it's what you do.”

“Foggy...”

“If there is anyone, other than my father, who is more capable to do this, then tell me. Because the only other option I see, is you, Matt.”

Foggy turns and looks at him now. He doesn't know if it's the office or his own want to not be here any longer that makes his words come out harsh and commanding. Matt ducks his head slightly, humbly, but doesn’t say anything.

“If you don't want to take my father's place, then tell me. I will be here for one week and one week only. When the funeral is over, I will be leaving. I don't trust anyone else but you with this, so if you decline, I will shut this operation down. No matter the consequences.”

“I understand.”

“Good. I don't want any part of this, Matt. I want to be left alone.”

\--

It rains the day of his fathers funeral. Foggy thinks he should be surprised, as an elderly woman he's never seen before touches him arm in well-intended comfort and says, “God and the Angels are grieving the loss of a pure soul today. But tomorrow, they shall rejoice in the coming of a new Angel.”

He smiles and thanks her politely, and when she waddles away he can't stop the smile from slipping off his face, and glaring at her hunched, retreating back.

The service begins and Foggy listens through deaf ears as the priest speaks words of faith and comfort. The only time he moves is when he goes up to speak, and when Matt slips his hand in his, squeezing it in comfort.

He never had told his father he was an atheist, but when the service ends and Foggy is left alone with a large headstone and hundreds of white roses, he can't help but ask some higher being to take care of an old sinners black soul.

\--

He's due to leave tonight. Matt accepts his offer, and with a few witnessed words and signatures, the power his father had given him, is passed on to his and his father's oldest friend.

“Take care of yourself, Foggy.” Matt says, pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek, and Foggy leaves without another word. He gets into the cab, and just like the first time, he doesn't look back.

\--

The seasons pass quickly, and while he thinks about the business, it soon is pushed to the back of his mind. After a few years of working substitute teacher jobs, Foggy finally lands a job as a kindergarten teacher at the local elementary school in Hell's Kitchen. It's there that he meets and befriends Karen Page, the bubbly yet also fiery fifth grade teacher. She invites him out for drinks with the rest of the teachers one Friday night - he hasn't clicked with someone so fast and so well since Matt.

It's the start of a glorious friendship.

His life picks up, and he's happier than he's been in years.

\--

He visits his father's grave on Sundays. It's cliche and typical, but so was his life. Not everyone could say they were the son of the most feared mob boss in all of New York. Not that he went around saying that at all, but the fact was still there.

He doesn’t say much. He thinks he mostly shows up so he can say he has if ever asked. It's not that he hated his father, quite the opposite. He just could never understand him. How he could hurt so many and feel no remorse. How he could kill a man and then hug him with the same hands.

\--

True to his wishes and Matt's promise, he's left alone. His days consist of glitter glue and construction paper, Phonics books and large alphabet cards. At night he creates lesson plans for the week and craft ideas for Friday's. Friday nights he spends with Karen and sometimes other teachers. Sometimes he spends them alone, watching movies and reading books. It's simple and safe and while it has its moments, he truly loves every second of it.

It's during one of these weekends alone that he notices a black car parked outside his apartment. He doesn’t think much of it at first – doesn't want to. But after a week of being trailed by the same vehicle, he has to face facts.

\--

He walks into his apartment, closing the door with his foot and turning on the hall light with his free hand. He places his laptop bag down on the little table at the door, and places his students spelling tests on top. He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket when a light in his living room turns on. He stops dead and looks at the glow for a moment before sighing heavily.

“You could have just waited for me to get home, you know. Like a normal person.” Foggy says, calling out to the man he knows is sitting in his living room.

“Where's the fun in that?” Matt calls back, the amusement in his voice evident.

Foggy finishes putting his things away, determined to not let this visit stop him from his routine. As he makes his way to the living room, he tries to calm himself down, but the itch of something in the business going wrong becomes too big to ignore.

When he steps into the room, Matt rises from his seat on the couch.

“Matt.” he greets and Matt does the same, “Foggy.”

“You sound well.” He says to Foggy, his expression and voice soft.

“Thank you, and you look well.”

Matt gives him a pleased smile before taking his seat back on the couch. “How are you liking teaching? Kindergarten, right? You've always loved children.”

Foggy answers his questions, not bothering to ask how he knows all this. He's not surprised, he knows his father used to spy on him as well. After years of being followed around knowingly, it wasn't too hard to pick them out when he went off on his own for the first time. When he arrived home after his fathers funeral, he was a bit surprised to see his fathers men and woman every once in awhile. At the time, he felt touched and a little warm on he inside, that Matt was looking after him. But after a couple

days the warm and fuzzy feelings fell away, and he ignored them.

“Enough of the small talk.” Foggy says, becoming irritated at Matt's attempts at keeping the conversation away from the true meaning of his visit. “What are you doing here, Matt?”

“Why, not happy to see me? Can't I check up on you?”

“This isn't a game. Why are you here?”

“Foggy, nothing's wrong, I promise you. It's been a few years and I wanted to personally see you were all right.”

“What? The black vehicle that's been following me around all week not good enough?” Foggy asks, letting his anger and annoyance leak out into his voice.

Matt has the decency to duck his head at that, a slight blush dusting his cheeks.

“Perhaps, I should have chosen the direct approach first.” he says with a slight smile.

“Yeah, perhaps.” Foggy says mockingly, “Damn near gave me a heart attack. I thought something else had happened.”

“It's encouraging to know you still care.” Matt says, sounding genuinely pleased. Foggy can't hold back his huff of annoyance.

“Aren't you curious to know how things are going?”

“Not really, but considering you're sitting here, something tells me something has happened.”

“Well, not yet.” Matt says, “But I believe it will soon.”

“What's going on?” Foggy asks, a dreadful feeling replacing his annoyed one.

“How much do you know about Wilson Fisk?” Matt asks after a moment. His eyebrows knitted together in concentration, thought.

“The man running for mayor?”

“Yes, him. But how much do you know about him regarding your father?”

Foggy thinks, the name does sound familiar, but more as a faint whisper in the back of his mind. “Not much, I don't think. I've seen him on T.V a few times and I've read about him in the papers. Other than that, not much. Why?”

Matt sighs. “It would make sense that you don't know him, because he worked for your father when you were very young. We came to wok for him around the same time, but he left soon after – an

argument with your father. I don't know much about it, but we have reason to believe Mr. Fisk is up to something.”

“Something bad?”

“Isn't it always.”

Foggy nods at that, but he frowns at the weariness in Matt's voice. He sounds tired, and not only that, but he looks it. Dark circles under his eyes and the deep lines around his mouth, and the redness on his jaw and knuckles Foggy had decided to ignore the second he noticed it. He's seen it enough on others to know Matt has been getting his hands dirty. He doesn’t need to know anymore. He shouldn't be surprised.

“That's all I have to say on the matter.” Matt says, standing up, fixing his red gaze on Foggy. “You said it yourself, you don't want to be involved. I just came to warn you. You may be out, but there is still a target on your back.”

“Thank you.” Foggy says, sincerely. “I appreciate that.”

Matt gives him a small smile before brushing at his coat. He fixes it on his body before walking towards the hallway entrance. He goes to walk past Foggy, but stops suddenly, and places a hand on Foggy's cheek, thumb stroking back and forth in a tender gesture.

“Please take care of yourself, Foggy.”

Then the man's hand is gone, and the sounds of his door clicking shut and locking are barely heard over the sound of his pounding heart.

\--

“Very cool, Kathleen!” Foggy says as one of his students sits down. She beams at him and bounces in her seat a bit, hugging her teddy bear she just showed to the class tight to her body.

Today is Thursday, and every first Thursday of the month, they having show and tell in his class. Each of his students brings in something to share with the class, and tell a story about their item.

“Okay!” He says with a huge smile, clapping his hands together. “Who wants to go next?”

There were several shouts of, “Me!”. Kids raising their hands and waving them around at him, eyes wide and smiles even wider, showing off teeth with gaps and blue stains from suckers from lunch time. Foggy laughs and covers his eyes with one hand, and raises the other one, pointing at the sea of

children in front of him, moving his arm back and forth.

“Oookay...how about...you!” He stops moving his finger and uncovers his eyes.

“All right, Blake! Your turn, buddy!”

\--

“Hey, take a look at this.” Karen says as she walks into his classroom, going straight for the television remote. It's late out, almost ten at night. He had some tests on their words for the week to go over and a lesson plan to finalize for tomorrow, and he didn't feel like going home, not after Matt's little visit.

She doesn't look at him, simply turns the thing on and then turns on the news. Foggy stands and walks to her side, his eye glued to the news anchor.

“- the man has made his presence know. Here with me I have an eye witness to the deeds done tonight by the towns very own vigilante. Please, tell us what you saw here tonight.” The woman says, titling the microphone towards the clearly shaken up man. It takes him a few seconds to find his voice, and when he does speak, he sounds a scared as he looks.

“H-he wore all black, an-and he fought like a professional. Like martial arts or something of the sort. And he saw me, I-I know he did, but he just walked right by me. Didn't do nothing to me.”

The reporter lays a comforting hand on the mans shoulder and nods at him as he speaks. When he has nothing else to say she turns back to the screen.

“Well, there you have it. Could The Man in Black only be after thugs and gangs? Are the innocent civilians of Hell's Kitchen safe from this mad man? Only time will tell.”

Karen turns off the television, the screen turning black with click and a faint buzzing sound.

“What do you think's going on?”

Foggy shakes his head, still looking at the television. “I have no idea.”

\--

He can't deny his worry. He's thought more about calling Matt this past week than he has in the last four years. Especially since he has no idea if the Man in Black is partnered with the mafia, or if he works for Fisk. Both ideas make him feel a bit sick, but he knows which one he prefers.

Or if the man works alone, which then, Foggy wishes the bastard luck because Hell's Kitchen can barely handle the power of both the mafia and Wilson Fisk, and the fact that they seem to be two moves

away from an all out turf war.

He sighs, rubs his hands over his face, and swallows his pride.

“Murdock.”

He doesn't bother with formalities. “Who or what is this 'Man in Black' guy?”

“Excuse me?”

“The dude on the television, Matt! The one causing trouble at the docks and other hot spots in town. What is going on?”

“Foggy, I promise nothing is going on. Nothing out the ordinary, anyway.”

“I find that hard believe, especially when I have no idea if he's going after our people, or is killing them or whatever the fuck he's doing.”

There's a slight pause. “Foggy, I can't tell you exactly what his agenda is, but he hasn't gone after our people at all.”

“He's hasn't?”

“No. It appears he has the same...ideals as we do. He's only going after Fisk's people.”

“So...he's definitely not working for Fisk?”

“No, Foggy. It doesn't seem to be that way.”

“Okay...good.”

“I'm sorry if you were worried.”

“Yeah, well...wait, won't this cause even more problems between you and Fisk? Won't he assume that the Man in Black is working with you and then do something about it?”

Matt laughs and Foggy really wishes they were having this conversation in person so he could strangle him.

“Your concern is always touching, Foggy. Don't worry about me or anyone else here. We can handle whatever Fisk throws at us. After all, we were here first and the citizens of Hell's Kitchen are not fond of change.”

“I know you can handle it, I'm just - ”

“Worried.”

“You know you wouldn't sound so smug if you knew I was pissed at you.”

“Why are you pissed at me?” And Foggy's right, Matt doesn't sound so smug now. He actually sounds a bit sad.

“I hate not knowing, okay. I don't want to know, but I also do, because I hate seeing this shit on television and having this sick feeling that something bad has happened.”

“What do you want, Foggy?” Matt asks softly after a moment of silence.

And he doesn't know. He knows for a fact that he wants nothing to do with his fathers legacy or the one Matt's creating for himself. He wants none of the so called glory that comes with striking fear into the hearts of men and woman everywhere, and the bloodshed that comes when people poke their noses in places they shouldn't, or don't follow orders. He hates the way people do double takes when they hear his last name and he has to joke that there is no relation. Nelson is a pretty common name after all, thank whatever power there is in the universe for that.

But he still cares. He cares so much that it drives him insane when he thinks there's something wrong and Matt hasn't told him. That one of the men or women he grew up with were killed on a job or that one of their hangers were found out.

He feels like he's ten again. With his dad telling him everything is fine with a smiling face, and while he's too young to understand, he still knows that bad things are happening.

He feels lost.

“I don't know.” He answers honestly.

“If you want, I can arrange to have updated you every so often. You don't need to know the intimate details, but I can tell you the basics of what's going on. So you no longer have to worry.”

And while it sounds like a good deal, Foggy knows it'll just pull him back in. That the constant contact with Matt will make it harder to keep a safe distance from the danger, and while he knows Matt doesn’t mean any harm, he can't promise it'll stay away.

With a sigh he says, “Sounds good, Matty.”

\--

Not a week has gone by that Matt hasn't called and updated Foggy on what's going on with their operations, whatever they believe Fisk to be doing, and the Man in Black. Which has been admittedly nice, he can't lie. These talks don't make him feel any confident about what's going on in that world or about the Man in Black, but it is nice to talk with Matt regularly again.

The men and woman who worked for his father had always been nice to him. Smiling at him and spending time with him by colouring pictures or helping him with his homework. It was always nice, and an eight-year-old always appreciates and thrives off of that kind of attention.

He had loved those people growing up, and he always loved Matt. Growing up, he thought Matt being blind was the coolest thing in the world because of his glasses and cane, and how he seemed to be more graceful than Foggy who wasn't blind. Maybe it was because he had all the grace of a child and Matt was an adult, but to Foggy he was a superhero, and Foggy loved him with all the child like wonder in his heart.

He still loves them all to this day. How could he not love the people who risked their lives everyday for their morals and beliefs - who protected him with all they had.

And he still loves Matt for the same reasons. But now, for some other reasons that he isn't too clear on, there has been a shift in their relationship dynamic that has left him unsure as to where they're headed. He thinks he has an idea, but he doesn't want to dwell upon it too much. If he's right, he doesn't want to have to tell Matt no. That that direction opens doors Foggy would rather stay closed. That he does love him, but belongs on the one side and Matt on the other. It wouldn't work.

It's a horrible thought, and while Matt is still young enough, the possibility of him dying within the next few years is too great to ignore. He can be feared and he can be on top, but that doesn't make him invincible or indestructible.

Which is one of the main reasons why the Man in Black scares him more than he's told Matt. Because even if they're both fighting the same angle, that doesn’t mean things can't turn ugly. And he knows that if this masked man does become a problem for the mafia, that Matt will act accordingly, and while he wants to put his entire faith into Matt, he can't.

He hears things about the masked man from news articles and journalists and reporters on television, saying that:

He's dangerous, be cautious.

He's a cold blooded killer, no one is safe.

He's the Devil here on Earth.

Matt assures him the man is not a problem and that everything in under control, but that's what Foggy expects. He knows deep down that if shit hit the fan Matt wouldn't tell him, that he would continue to tell him that everything is going fine and to not worry.

Which is becoming really hard to do with all these news articles and television reports and everything they have to say on the subject.

He tries to call Matt, so he can ring him out for not telling him that the man is clearly very, very dangerous and should not be messed with. Not that the mafia would ever back down if challenged, but he still thinks Matt deserves an earful for omission.

Except Matt has decided that today is the perfect day to not answer his phone. As well as yesterday. And the day before that.

He calls again for what feel like the thousandth time as he walks home from work. He's angry, seething even and he's pretty sure that if Matt does decide to answer this time, he might just scream into the receiver.

When he gets his voice message again, he says as calmly as he can, “Matthew, answer your goddamn phone. You are blind, not deaf.”and hangs up.

He sighs a full body sigh and worries. This morning news was a recap about what had happened last night. Showing images of gore and horror that left Foggy feeling nauseous and off his appetite, even his coffee left an undesirable taste in his mouth.

They even had managed to capture a blurry shot of the Man in Black himself, the first ever shot of the man that's clear enough to get a good look at him. Tall, broad, standing with power and a calm that shouldn't be possible in his situation. Covered in blood. Broken victims piled at his feet. Surround.

He doesn't like it, not at all. This man is nothing but trouble and he has no idea what the future of Hell's Kitchen will be with this man running around, causing mayhem and death.

“All the good little kiddies should be in bed.”

Foggy stops dead in his tracks. He doesn't turn around, but he tries to see who said that out of the corner of his eyes, but there's no one there. He takes a moment to steady his breathing, the voice had caused his heart to jump into his throat. Once his breathing is somewhat normal, he begins walking.

“Someone as pretty as you shouldn't be out here all alone.”

Foggy ignores the voice this time, and keeps walking. But that doesn't stop him from trying to see the person the voice belongs to. But just like before, he sees no one.

He picks up his pace.

“Oh, please don't ignore me, darling.”

It continues like this for several blocks. Foggy trying his best to ignore the voice, and the voice asking for his attention in a sickly sweet tone. When he's a few blocks away from his house, he snaps. Which is a good thing, because he doesn't exactly want to lead the man to his house.

“What do you want!?” Foggy yells, spinning around to face the darkness of the night, punctuating each word with a clenched fist.

He breathes his anger heavily into the dark, the air still and quiet around him as he once again tries to see whoever is talking to him. Taunting him. Making his blood boil with every use of the word 'darling' and 'please'.

“Oh, so now that you have my attention, you're all quiet!?” He continues on, yelling into the dark. He hears a window open and then someone shouts, “Hey, buddy, shut the fuck up!”

To which he replies, “Why don't you go fuck yourself and mind your own goddamn business!”

“You shouldn't be so rude, Foggy. It isn't nice.” The voice says, finally chiming in. Foggy spins around again and when he sees nothing, he says, “Yeah, that's what being rude is. Not being nice, which is coincidentally, what you're being!”

“I take it someone doesn't like being teased.”

“You got that right. Now, what do you want?”

“To talk.” The voice says. But now it's no longer just a voice, as a man steps out of the shadows and the very sight of him makes Foggy's heart drop into his gut from mixed emotions all rushing together. Fear, dread, panic. He can't tell them apart as his skin slowly feels like he's been drenched in cold water.

“To you.” The Man in the Black says, as if he needs to clarify that fact, even though he's been following Foggy home for the better part of a half hour.

“About?” Foggy cringes internally at how scared he sounds. His earlier bravado pretty much gone now that he knows for sure who's been trying to get his attention.

“You're trying to get a hold of your friend, right?”

Well he can't say he was expecting that. “What, how do you know that?” Foggy asks with a scowl.

“I heard you leave your, uh, message.” The Man in Black says with a wide smile. One of amusement and one that's too pretty to be allowed on a man so scary.

“Oh...” Foggy says, then thinking that it'd be pointless to deny it, he says, “Yes, I am. Why?”

“Your friend and I. Matt? We're friends as well. I could let him know you're trying to reach him. If you'd like?”

His mind supplies possible answers like, 'Wait, how do you know Matt? How do you even know we know each other? What? Sorry, don't know anyone named Matt, was actually trying to call my friend Bob.'. But because his mouth and brain don't always work together, he asks instead:

“Friends? What, you bond over killing people?” It's meant to be rhetorical, but when the man opens his mouth to answer he quickly says, “No, don't answer that. I don't wanna know.”

The man closes his mouth, but the smile stays, and it makes Foggy nervous. Like he's under a microscope and everything about him is being picked apart and observed.

“Matt says you aren’t working for or with anyone. So how do you know each other?”

The man shrugs. “Set up a meeting. I'm not entirely hard to get a hold of.”

“What did he have to do, shine a light into the sky? Smoke signals? Leave posters on every building and street light in New York?”

“Something like that.” he says with a laugh. “Point is, is that you and I have a mutual friend.”

“And?” Foggy asks cautiously, not liking the sudden direction this conversation is going in.

“And I can tell him to call you back. And...maybe we could get to know each other.”

Foggy's stomach twists. “Why?”

“Because I find you fascinating.”

\--

They called his father God. Something about him being judge, jury, and executioner, holding the fate of everyone in the palm of his hand. Something like that, Foggy never really paid it that much attention. Matt acquired the same name, taking it and using it to make sure everyone says their prayers at night with fever. He really was the perfect person to take over his fathers so called throne. So perfect it's scary sometimes to read about what they do in the newspaper – no name to the crime, but so obviously work of the mafia. Things Matt would never tell him.

Things his father never told him.

He doesn't know how to explain the feeling that runs through him whenever he thinks about stuff like that. How murders and shot-ups and torture were happening under his nose, with him none the wiser. How he knew subconsciously that his father's line of work was nothing good. How it was like an itch he couldn't quite reach. Annoying, but goes went when he made a pointed attempt to ignore it.

Sometimes, he hates the fact that his father was so loving and wonderful to him and his mother while she was still alive. He thinks it would be easier if his father had been nasty and cruel. That he could hate him with good reason and not feel so guilty about any negative emotion he directs towards the man.

He knows that he could never and cannot think of any reason good enough to defend his father for all of the things he's done. He could say that the people deserved it, or that they were just as seedy and twisted if they involved themselves with matters of the mafia. But he knows that's not completely true. That innocent people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time fell victim to his fathers bullets. Families of the people his father was after were left feeling the burn of one person's foolish mistakes.

And what kills him the most, is that he can never apologize. That there is nothing he can ever say that would make any of it be okay, or go away.

He can't turn back time and give them peace again, or bring their loved ones back.

All he can do is love a man who sins with the glow of a halo, and pray for forgiveness he doesn’t deserve and that the families find eventual closure.

He thinks on this with a sad smile and moisture in his eyes. Tears slowing brimming to the surface, but not enough emotion behind them for them to fall.

What caused him to think about his father, was this morning's newspaper and news coverage on the television. It seems like after their little talk last night, the Man in Black got himself in a bit of trouble.

Or was the cause of it. Something like that.

But that trouble birthed something that makes Foggy want to laugh at the complete irony of it all, and cry for the same reasons.

Last night, The Devil of Hell's Kitchen was born.

No longer is he simply a man that causes disaster and fear, but a being that makes even the most hardcore Bible thumpers shake to their knees.

So the whole of New York has to deal with the presence of both God and the Devil sitting on its shoulders and causing equal mayhem...

His phone buzzing brings him out of his thoughts, and when he sees that it's Matt calling him, he let's out a relieved breath.

“Finally, what have you been doing?” He says, more harsh then he initially meant, but he's upset with Matt, and he think his tone is allowed. And besides, he can practically feel Matt cringing. Sweet, sweet revenge. Kind of.

“I'm sorry, Foggy. I got busy and couldn't get away long enough to return any of your calls...all fifty of

them.”

Okay, so maybe he could have cooled it with the calling, but he was too worried about everything else to worry about how often he was calling.

“Oh, does it have anything to do with your new bff the newly renamed Devil of Hell's Kitchen?”

The response he gets is silence, to the point where is isn't sure Matt will ever respond, or that he hung up with out Foggy realizing. But after checking his phone screen to make sure, he sees the call is still connected.

“Matt?” He asks, trying to keep his tone annoyed, but it comes out more like the question it is.

He hears Matt exhale before saying, “I should have told you, I'm sorry.”

“I just don't understand how he went from a 'dangerous dude to keep an eye on' to someone you work with. What did – how did that even happen?”

“It's a long story, look, Foggy -”

“Smoke signals or symbol in the sky?”

“What?”

“You know, like Batman - who for the record so has to be real. I don't understand how Thor is real, yet people say Batman isn't. That just doesn't make sense to me.”

“Uh, no, Foggy,” Matt says with a chuckle. “I simply...arranged a meeting with him.”

“Yeah, I get it, the dude isn't hard to find, whatever. I just want to know if he can be trusted. Are you going to regret trusting him?”

Matt is quiet again. It's the kind of pause that would usually be cause for concern, but Foggy thinks he's just trying to figure out how to say whatever he's going to say without trying to worry him.

“While I can't say I trust him fully, I can say without a doubt that he won't cause anyone harm.”

“Matt, he's killed people. You can't say he won't harm people without a doubt, and you don't know that he'll stop.”

“I meant people who don't deserve it.”

“No one deserves to die, Matt.”

“And that's something you don't know.”

“Um, I'm pretty sure the general consensus here on earth, is that no one deserves to die. No one has the right to decide that and take someone's life away from them. No one is that powerful, Matt. No matter who or what you believe in, or whatever you're called.”

“You're not a child anymore. You can't be ignorant to the things people do. If I didn't take matters into my own hands, just like your father did, then this town would be crawling with vermin. What he did – what I do, is protect people. And yes, sometimes innocent people are killed. I'm sorry, but that's how it is.”

“Wow, that sounds a lot like what Wilson Fisk is saying in his interviews. Not thinking of running for Mayor there, Matty?”

“Don't you dare compare me to him. He has no good intentions regarding this town, only using it and its resources for his drug rings and foreign thugs. Unlike, Mr. Fisk, I am doing everything I can to keep people safe. And if that involves enlisting the help of a vigilante, then so be it.”

“Matt - ” He tries, feeling the fight slip out of him as quickly as it had entered. He doesn't want to argue, he doesn't want that sour feeling sitting in his gut. He's scared and worried and knows that there is so much he's not being told.

“I have to go, Foggy. I promise I'll be in touch soon.” Then he says, voice softer than Foggy thinks he deserves, “Take care of yourself.”

When Matt hangs up the phone, he feels worse than he has all week.

\--

“Why so sad?”

Foggy bites his lip and continues walking. Head bent down as he picks up the pace, not wanting to deal with this right now.

“I can feel your skin buzzing with bad energy from here.”

“I'm not going to talk about it so you might as well just go.” He says in a low - and he can admit - defeated voice. His argument with Matt left him in a sullen mood all day, not even Karen's homemade banana bread did anything to lift his spirits. He kept looking at his phone all day like some dejected and lost puppy. Karen patting his head didn't help matters either.

“So, what do I call you now? Man in Black or Devil?” He asks in an effort to leave the previous conversation attempt behind. Especially since the man has now been walking with - okay more like slinking in the shadows behind - him for several blocks with no sign of leaving anytime soon.

The man chuckles, the sound deep and joyful.

“You can call me whatever you like, darling.”

Foggy is surprised when the remark makes the weight lessen just a smidgen. Enough for a ghost of a smile to slip onto his face. But he catches it and quickly stomps those feelings away.

“Well, you can't have both. You have to pick one.”

“Why is that?”  
Foggy sighs. “I don't know. It could be confusing.”

“What's so confusing about it? Man in Black, Devil. We're the same person, beautiful.”

Foggy scoffs, feeling his cheek heat up. “Now I understand why they gave you a new name.”

“Yeah?” The man asks, the amusement in his voice evident, “Why is that?”

“Because you're sinfully annoying.”

“That's hurtful.” The man says, but he laughs, obviously not hurt by it at all.

“Yeah, well, sometimes people say hurtful things.”

The man makes a sound in his throat, like an understanding hum. “So that's what's bothering you. You got into a fight with someone.” he says, but then his tone changes and he adds, walking out of the shadows and into Foggy's line of vision, “Did they hurt you? I could hurt them back for you.”

The offer would make him feel better if Karen hadn't already beaten him to it. Maybe they'd be all for a tag team dynamic. He dismisses the idea immediately. He doesn't want Matt hurt in anyway, he just wants to know exactly what Matt is thinking in this moment, and hopefully he's not the only one who is angsting way too much over all of this.

Then he wonders if Matt even has time to angst. Or if he multitasks. Then his brain conjures up images of Matt kneeling behind someone, wearing leather gloves and a blank face as he pulls a string of piano wire tight across the persons neck until the pressure breaks the skin open and eventually decapitates them. All the while Matt is heartbroken over their fight as the head rolls across the floor, staining it with blood.

Then he tells himself to stop because what the actual fuck was that?

Maybe he should find out more about what actually goes on in those interrogation rooms and various warehouses and hangers the business owns, so that he doesn't have to conjure up things like that ever again. That, or cool it on the Criminal Minds.

“What, no.” He says, snapping back into their conversation. “I don't want anyone getting hurt.”

“Where's the fun in that?”

“It's not something fun or happy, people are dying! - You know what, no, I'm not having this conversation a second time.”

“Ahh,” The man says in a tone that makes Foggy want to punch him. “So, trouble in paradise.”

“What?”

“I take it this conversation was with our very own Matt?”

“Yeah, so?” Foggy says, suddenly feeling very defensive.

“Well, did he tell you I'm not going to hurt anyone who's innocent?”

“You're a killer! You can't promise me anything. You are just some souped up assassin or like a horrible at being low-key hit-man. You know how many times I've heard that no one innocent will be killed or even harmed? Too many times, and every time, people who don't deserve to, die.”

Foggy tenses when hands come up and rest on each arm. Slowly the hands work at moving him closer and closer until he's being pressed tightly against the mans chest.

He's pretty sure it's meant to be comforting, but he's too tense for it to be anything but awkward and uncomfortable. But the man doesn't seem to mind, his arms now around him as leather fingers trail up and down his back.

Then he says, in a low voice, “Devil.”

\--

“You know, I love my kids. But if I hear 'Let it Go' one more time, I'm going to lose my fucking mind.” Karen says as she walks into the staff room and immediately heads to the coffee pot. She pours herself a mug and turns around to lean back against the counter.

“What's up with you?” When he doesn’t answer, she says, “Foggy.”

“Hm?” Foggy asks, zoning in and looking at her.

“You look like shit, what happened?”

“Nothing, I just...had a hard time sleeping.” Which is the truth. After the man – Devil, finally let him go, and by the time he made his way home, he had enough adrenaline to keep him up for most of the night. It wasn't until around three in the morning that he managed fell asleep, and with a six thirty wake up, he's surprised he hasn't dropped off his feet yet.

“Yeah?” she asks, coming over and sitting down in the seat next to him. She places her mug in front of her. “I've heard that lavender extract helps you to fall asleep. Like you just dab a bit on your pillow and it should help.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “I've never tried it, personally. But it doesn't hurt to try.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

She looks at him for a moment, and he tries to show her that he's okay by smiling, but even he can tell it's in no way convincing and he can feel with tiredness like a weight in his face. Especially when she smiles back at him with sympathy and slight understanding. Like she knows he's thinking about something he isn't going to tell her.

Always so perceptive and smart.

“Or you could just try sleepy time tea?”

\--

The night is cold. Foggy pulls his coat tighter around him, trying to protect himself from the strength and power of the wind. He sighs as the wind blows his hair around, making it hard to see. He peers through whatever strands he can, thankful this street has ample street lighting.

He hasn't seen or heard from Matt in a week. He wonders if he should just make the effort to reach out to him. After all, he opened his big mouth first. But, on the other hand, he's still pissed at the man. So rather than being an adult about the situation, he's decided to go on with his life until Matt calls him, and then he can apologize like the giant mess he is becoming on the inside.

Going on with life, though, has proven very difficult when you're followed home almost every evening by a man who wears spandex and who likes to show off the amount of people he's killed by displaying it all over said spandex and face.

Once, he went home early one day. Just didn't feel like grading things at the school, so he brought home his student's assignments and marked them in the comfort of his own home.

However, that apparently is not allowed unless he submits the proper paperwork and lets the man know that he will be going home early, at least 24 hours in advance. Foggy thinks it's ridiculous, but he'd rather not have that conversation again. His head is still pounding from how hard he was pressed up against the building.

A van pulls up on the side of the road, its tires screeching against the pavement as it comes to a sudden stop. Foggy turns at the sound, and watches as several men crawl out of it once the doors fling open, and run out onto the sidewalk in his direction.

Naturally, what's happening doesn't register in time, and before he knows what's going on, he's being roughed up and man handled by several beefy guys in leather jackets.

He struggles, doing everything he can to break free, but there are too many of them. Their fingernails digging into the fabric of his coat, pulling at him, and tripping his feet so he can't try and dig them into the pavement.

He begins shouting. Pleas of help as he continues to do all he can to stop himself from being shoved in the black abyss that is the opening of the vans door.

And then a metal rod is embedded in the skull of the man on his right. The man's eyes roll into the back of his head and he crumples to the ground in an instant. The rest watch, quiet for a moment as they witness the death of one of their own, and then they're moving Foggy again. Trying to get him into the van with much more urgency than before.

And then another one falls. Something whipping around his ankles and bringing him to the ground, flat on his face. He claws at the ground, but is pulled swiftly away from view, and into the darkness. His screaming fading away once he's gone.

The rest of the men seem to catch on to the fact that they're about to be picked off one by one, but that doesn't seem to matter. They let go of Foggy, pushing him off to the side, but still behind them, and pull

out guns from their waists and backs. They fall into a formation, and face where the attacks came from, and open fire on the area without hesitation.

The noise of deafening. The clinks from the bullet shells hitting the ground are not heard over the sound of breaking glass and chipping brink, or the sound of car and business alarms going off.

Foggy ducks and covers his ear, but it doesn't do anything.

When the firing stops, they five that are left look to the sixth. He looks around, up, and peers in to darkness, checking.

After a few moments, he seems satisfied and nods to the rest of them. Those that fell to their knees stand up, and they all holster their guns. Foggy braces himself for their touch, when a whistling noise sounds through the air. He opens his eyes in time to witness the sixth man being skewered by a hook. Breaking the flesh of his stomach and gripping into him. He stares ahead with wide, shocked eyes, before he's pulled away into the darkness.

The rest scramble to get their guns, though there is no point. The Devil jumps out of the shadows and immediately grabs the neck of the closest man to him and snaps it in one swift movement. Before the man even hits the ground the Devil reaches behind him and pulls two blades out from behind him, both shaped like tridents, and flings one into the neck of the man closest to Foggy.

When the man drops, so does Foggy. Crouching down and moving as quickly as he can away from the fight. He hears gunfire and thinks about turning around, but when it stops and a sickening sploshing sound takes its place, he thinks against it.

“I told you they would try and come after you.” The Devil says, suddenly in front of him, and Foggy can't help but gasp as he's grabbed by the arm and pulled upwards into a tight embrace. Tense and unsure on how to deal with what he just witnessed, he allows the man to do whatever it is he needs to.

Which seems to be checking him over. How, he doesn't know considering the man covers his eyes. But when a hand becomes a bit too wandering, he slaps it away and says,

“What, no you didn't! And who would come after me?!”

“Fisk's men.”

“Fisk did this? Why?”

“I don't know.” The Devil growls, the sound low and threatening, making Foggy wish he could move away.

“You're bleeding.” He says when he takes a good look at the man next to him. He gently reaches up and presses two fingers near the hole in his side, and quickly moves them away when the man hisses.

“Well don't touch it.”

“Sorry.” Foggy cringes. “You need to see a doctor or something.”

The man laughs, and it worries Foggy when it comes out a bit hysterical.

“Do I look like the type of guy who goes to a doctor?”

“No, but you look like the kind of guy who really should.”

“I have a...nurse.”

Foggy raises an eyebrow. “A nurse?”

“Yeah, she fixes me up.”

“Well, I can already tell you don't pay her nearly enough to deal with you.”

“Actually, she does it for free.”

“Ah, so you're sleeping together.”

“What, no.” And he does sound honestly taken aback, but it only make Foggy laugh.

“But you want to.”

“Shut up, I need to get you home.” and then he adds, his voice serious, “And you need to call your friend and tell him what happened.”

The thought of calling Matt and telling him what happened tonight causes panic to grip his heart. He can't tell Matt about what happened. That man would wrap him in bubble wrap and keep him locked away in a tower or something until he dies, because only then will he be safe enough for the world. “What, no, he doesn't need to know.”

“And why not? Fisk has made a move on you, and he needs to know so he can do something about it.”

“Because he has enough to deal with. He doesn't need to worry about any more.”

“And that's bullshit. If you won't tell him, then I will.”

The man goes to walk away, but Foggy grabs his arm. The Devil stops and turns to Foggy, doing nothing to shake him off.

“You can't tell him.”

“Give me a good reason not to.”

“Because he will go into mother hen freak mode and use resources he desperately needs to take Fisk down with, on me, all because of a little scuffle. Besides, you were here and you took care of things, and I'm fine. He doesn't need to know anything happened here at all. So please don't tell him.”

“Foggy - ” The Devil starts, his tone harsh and commanding, but Foggy ignores him.

“Please.”

\--

“Hello?” he says groggily into the receiver. Last night was another night he didn't get much sleep. Too aware of himself to calm down. The phantom feelings of him being pulled and pushed so fresh in his mind that he can still smell the smoke that clung to the men like a second skin.

He glances at the clock and groans internally when he sees he's only been asleep for maybe an hour.

“So you weren't going to tell me?” says Matt, his voice low and steady, but Foggy can hear the anger just below the surface. It's probably taking a lot of internal counting down from 10 to keep him this calm.

It takes Foggy a moment to understand what Matt is saying to him, but when the events of last night click in his brain, he gives a deep sigh. “Bastard.” he mutters as he sits up.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Look, Matt - ”

“No, you do not get to tell me everything is fine, that is bullshit Foggy. Are you out of your mind? What made you think it was in anyway okay not to tell me? What if Fisk tried again, huh? What if he got you and you wound up dead.” Matt says, his voice getting higher and harsher the more he went on.

“I thought sometimes innocent people died in these things. That that's how it is.”

“Don't pull that shit with me, Foggy. Not right now.”

“I'm not. I'm just saying that there would be no difference in me dying or an innocent person dying.”

There's a moment of silence and Foggy can practically feel the anger that's radiating off of Matt. He feels guilty for saying what he is, especially considering what had happened, but he needs to get that point across. Last night he witnessed the murder of eight people. Every time he closes his eyes he can see perfectly the fear and confusion in the mans eyes as his stomach was impaled. Their screams as they were swallowed up into the darkness. How their hands felt on his body. And he knows that it would have been him or them, but he has no idea how many people witnessed what went on last night. How many people were killed or harmed because Fisk's men opened fire. And even though they clearly weren't good people, he still feels remorse for their deaths.

“You're not to be alone, at all.” Matt says, his voice now dangerously low and steady.

Foggy scoffs in disbelief. “Excuse me. You don't get to dictate my life.”

“I do when you're in danger.”

“No - ”

“There will be cars with my people in it outside your home at all hours of the day. There will be one a safe distance from the school, as well as other vehicles along any routes you take. I would also like to keep an eye on Miss. Page as -”

“You are not following Karen. She has nothing to do with this.”

“- As a precaution. She may not be a part of this, but she is your friend. I would like to be safe and cover all precautions. I believe you would like your friend safe and alive.”

“Wow, Matt, why don't you just kidnap me and force me to live back home so you can keep an eye on me twenty four seven.”

“Trust me, I entertained that same idea for a very long time.”

“Realized there's only so much bullshit I'll put up with?”

Matt sighs. “I can't make you do anything, Foggy. And I won't hold you hostage in your childhood home. You're an adult, but there is a line and I'm not going to take any chances with you.”

“And?”

There's another pause, but this one feels different. Like Matt is debating on whether to say what he wants to or not. Foggy isn't too sure he wants to hear it himself. “..and I don't think I'd let you go once here.”

That shocks him. He knows it in the way his breath practically leaves his body and how his heart picks up making it hard to think.

“Oh, go screw yourself, Murdock.”

He hangs up the phone, and spends the rest of the weekend seething and thinking in equal measure.

\--

After the incident, Foggy isn't left alone. Between Matt and the Devil, Foggy hasn't had one moment of peace, and he thinks he might go insane. He's also pretty sure if he ever hears the words, “Mr. Murdock's orders.” or anything of that variation ever again, he may throw up.

He's sitting in a coffee shop with Karen. She's talking to him about something or another, but he's barely paying attention. He knows it'll take almost no time at all for her to realize she's lost him and then ring him out for it, but he continues to look outside the window and at the car across the street.

The people inside are watching him back blatantly, not even trying to be discreet anymore. Not after the first few weeks where he'd walk right up to the cars and tell them to get lost.

Only to be told that they're there as per Matt's orders.

With a small sigh, he looks away and back at Karen, who, just like he thought, is no longer talking and is staring at him with an annoyed look.

They stare at each other for a moment before Karen sighs, and her look goes from annoyed to worried. “I know you're not going to tell me what's going on with you, but I'm worried. Is everything okay?”

He doesn’t want to keep brushing off her concern, especially since he knows she's coming from a good place and has the best intentions. Part of him worries that eventually she'll become fed up with him and his need to bottle whatever is happening up, and that she'll stop talking to him and they're friendship will be over. But he knows she's not that kind of person, and that she'll be here forever asking if he's

okay and doing whatever she can to make him feel better.

He really should do a better job of letting her know that he appreciates all she does for him, because next to Matt, she's his best friend.

Not that he's very fond of Matt right now, but he still loves the guy.

And Karen deserves better.

He shrugs. “I'm just feeling a little weird, you know? Not myself.”

She nods in understanding as she takes a sip of her coffee. When she puts it down she says, “Do you think you need to take some time off? Get yourself sorted out?”

“Oh no. I think staying home with my thoughts would not be a good thing.”

“I just don't want you to crash. Take it easy, okay? And know that if you ever need or want to talk, I'm here for you.”

\--

He places his keys on the side table with a sigh. He takes off his coat and shoes and goes to put them away, but pauses when he notices a black coat hanging in his closet and a pair of dress shoes on the floor next to the closet.

He finishes putting his things away, not exactly looking forward to seeing Matt. He knew that this would happen eventually. He could only ignore Matt's calls for so long before the man got fed up and came to him.

And he knows that he's acting childish. Ignoring and avoiding the man as much as he can. But he feels

too justified in his feelings to properly see how ridiculous he's being. Deep down he knows that Matt is just worried and this is his way of looking after him, that he should be thankful for the protection and concern. It could be worse. Matt could not care at all and then where would he be?

He feels the man behind him before he says anything, and he gives a small sigh.

“We need to talk.”

“About?”

“Us.”

Foggy closes his eyes and holds back another sigh. “I don't want to have this conversation right now.”

“Really? I think this conversation is long over-due.”

Foggy turns to face him and he's startled to see how tired and wrecked Matt looks. Like he hasn't slept in days and has been working non stop. He looks roughed up, his skin covered in faded red scrapes with spots of colour in various places on his face and arms.

He ignores it.

“You need to stop treating me like a child.”

“Hard not to when you're acting like one.”

“Matt,” Foggy says, taking a deep and steadying breath. “I'm tired of fighting with you. I need you to know that I appreciate everything you're doing for me, I really do. But I am suffocating. Between you and crazy out there, I am never alone and it's starting to make me feel like shit.”

Matt just stands there for a moment before he closes the distance between them. Foggy doesn't know why but it makes him tense. Afraid that Matt is about to get all up in his face about it. It wouldn't exactly surprise him, but he wouldn't appreciate that at all.

But Matt doesn't, instead he places his hands on either side of Foggy and squeezes his arms lightly.

“I have been looking after you for so long. Finding out that Fisk made a move on you...scared me. More than I have been in a long time.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault, Foggy. I'm upset that you weren't planning on telling me, but I'm happy you're okay.”

“Yeah, well, you should thank Hellboy out there. He's the one who...saved me.”

Matt smiles as he huffs out a laugh. “I'll be sure to.”

Foggy nods and then looks away. Matt is still holding onto his arms and he doesn't want to say anything. Doesn't want to ruin the small tether of peace they have going on right now.

“Whoa.” he says when he notices a long and deep cut stitched up along Matt's forearm. “How did you manage that one?” Part of him wants to touch it, but he resists that urge.

“Ah, I was...working.” Matt says with a hesitant smile as he pulls his arms away.

Foggy nods, grateful that Matt isn't going to elaborate. “Claire must hate you.”

Matt smiles. “Good thing I pay her well then, isn't it?”

“I think that woman deserves a raise. She's too good for you, Murdock.”

\--

They meet up nightly for months. Well, they don't exactly meet up, more like the man drops out the sky and plays 20 questions with Foggy about his day.

It's nice. He can't say it's always pleasant, but he's come to enjoy his walks home with the other man.

No other attempt of kidnapping on Fisk's part happens again, to which he is grateful. Matt has slowly started to lighten up his security and has been stopping by less frequently. Though he has a feeling whatever deal he has going with the Devil, the man keeping a close eye on him during his nightly walk home is part of it.

“Don't you have anything better to do?” He asks one night, “Than walking me home, I mean.”

“There are always things to be done, but I assure you, I don't mind spending a little time with you each night.”

That causes Foggy to smile, and his face to heat up. “That's good...wouldn't want you to be bored.”

“I could never be bored with you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I told you. I find you fascinating.”

“All right, I get it.”

“Does that embarrass you?”

“Yes, Jesus Christ.”

“No, it's Devil, we've been over this. But I appreciate the comparison.”

“Shut up.”

The Devil laughs and suddenly slips away from Foggy and into the shadows. Foggy pays that no mind. He has a habit of walking with Foggy for a little bit to following him in the shadows. Sometimes he even takes to the roof tops and parkouring his way off of buildings and even lamp posts.

“Why does that embarrass you?”

“I seriously don't want to have this conversation.”

“You never want to have any conversation.”

“ So? Talking is overrated.”

“I agree.” Foggy jumps, but will never admit he did so, when the Devil is suddenly in front of him...very in front of him. Foggy almost walking into him the man appeared so suddenly and quietly from the darkness. “Why bother with chit chat when being more direct is the better way to go.”

“I guess.” Foggy says a bit nervously when the Devil begins walking forward, forcing him to go backwards. The man is quiet for a moment, just staring ahead with a smile on his face, which is seriously starting to freak Foggy out. But then he can't walk anymore having hit a wall or something of the sort. The impact a bit rough since he wasn't exactly expecting it, but the Devil seemed to have since his smile only gets bigger.

Hands trail from his shoulders down his arms and then interlock fingers with him. Then his arms are lifted up over his head, their fingers still locked together as they rest against the rough brick of the building. The Devil leans in and for a while they stand like that. Bodies pressed tightly together, noses brushing back and forth slowly, and it has to be one of the most intimately terrifying experiences of his life.

The air around them is like static now. Anticipation lingering in the air, but Foggy doesn’t feel any type hurry. He feels rather content to stand there like this for as long as time would allow.

He bites on his lower lip, only to have one of the Devils hands softly pull out of his, drop down to his face, and gently thumb his bottom lip out from under his teeth. And he doesn't know how he knows, but he knows the moment is now, and together they move, closing the small distance between their lips.

And then a scream pierces through the quiet.

Foggy lets out a breath at the lost moment and says, “Go to them. I'm a block away, I'll be fine.”

But he doesn't go, instead he growls low in his throat and closes the distance, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss. It's hungry and full of a passion Foggy's can't quiet place. Emotions that don't seem to make much sense, but are there regardless. He doesn't say anything when the man pulls away, only watches him, and too soon the Devil is pulling away from him and is gone.

\--

“Okay, you have been off for months, but today you seem different and I think it's in a good way.” Karen says as she grabs her lunch from the staff room fridge.

“Really?” Foggy asks, resisting the urge to feel his face, wondering if the fact he had been kissed last night is written all over his forehead. 'why would it be' he thinks to himself 'it's obviously written all over your face'

“Totally.” Karen says a she sits down. She takes a bite of her lunch before saying with a playful glint in her eyes, “So...what happened?”

He considers lying, but decides against it. He's lied to her so many times in the last couple of months that adding another thing makes him feel like a shitty friend. Besides, it was a kiss. He can so bend the truth a bit as to who and the circumstances. And...well...pretty much everything except the fact that he had been kissed.

“So what happened...” he begins, and she's looking at him with an expression that suggests she has a very good idea as to what he's about to say, and is just waiting for the second for him to say so she can be outwardly excited and tell him she knew it.

“...is I meet a guy and we kissed for the first time last night.”

She closes her eyes with an expression of pure bliss as a large smile creeps its way onto her face. She places a hand over her heart and says, “I fucking knew it.”

“No you did not.”

She opens her eyes and pins him with a look. “I so did! You walked in this morning and it was written all over your face.”

“Was not.”

“Was to.”

“Was not!”

“Okay, so you're a child and in denial. Why?”

“I'm not a child or in denial”

She squints her eyes at him. “Are you sure? Because you sound like both.”

“I'm not, I just...I don't know what to do.”

Karen frowns. “What do you mean?”

“He's great, don't get me wrong, but - ”

“You're just not that interested in him.” She nods in understanding.

“No,” he sighs. “Does that make me a horrible person?”

“Of course not.” Karen says with a scowl. “There's nothing wrong with not being into a person. What about him don't you like?”

“Like I said he's great and the kiss was nothing short of amazing. I just like someone else more. If I didn't, I would totally go for him.”

“Ooohh.” Karen says, her smile coming back. “You got two men in line, Foggy you sly dog, you.”

“Karen, I'm not seeing both men, I just know them both.”

“Do they know each other?”

Foggy sighs. “Yeah.”

“Are you worried it'd be awkward?”

“I guess, not really. I just don't know what to do about it, you know? One dude is into me, great, but I have no idea if the one I actually want is interested in me. And I don't know how tell the other guy that we wouldn’t work out.”

“That is tricky. All you can do is be as gentle and straightforward as you can.”

Foggy nods.“Yeah. But to be honest...I don't know if me and the guy I want would work out either.”

Karen stares at him for a moment before she asks, “Why not? You never know.”

“We're different.”

“Opposites usually make the best couples. They balance each other out more times than not.”

“True, but that doesn't mean it'd be the case for us.”

Karen sighs. “Don't let that stop you. For all you know that relationship could the one that's the most important. The one everyone is searching for.”

\--

Foggy switches off his television, not wanting to hear anymore of what Wilson Fisk has to say regarding his promises of keeping Hell's Kitchen safe and cleaning up the city in hopes of giving it a bigger and brighter future. He hates to admit it, but the man is a powerful and persuasive public speaker and Foggy has caught himself too many times nodding in agreement with some of the things he has to say.

He feels like shit. There is no other word for the emotion he's feeling, and to be honest with himself, he's really tired of constantly feeling like it. All he wants is to go to work, hang out with Karen, and then go home. He wants his boring, typical life back and wants the mafia-vigilante-kidnapping attempting-life gone.

He wants simplicity.

He thinks about how when he was a kid and his dad would come home after a long day of work, and he even though he was tired and sore, he would play and laugh with him. He misses being this worried over something when he was only fifteen and going to him for advice. He misses staying up late and watching movies with him when he was actually home in the evenings.

He misses Matt being just his friend and someone he can look up to.

He misses being so ignorant and clueless.

\--

“Matt.” He says, surprised at seeing the man is standing on his doorstep and that he actually knocked instead of letting himself in.

“Foggy.” Matt says back, his tone is somewhat light, but his shoulders are tense and his mouth his set in a firm line. He's also holding his cane in a grip so tight that his knuckles are white.

“Come in,” he says, and steps aside to let Matt in. When the man walks past him, he closes and locks the door, then says, “Is everything all right?”

The man nods, running a hand over his face and mouth.

“Are you all right?” he tries again, a bit more hesitant. Matt doesn't look so good. He wonders if he should call Claire and have her force him to take a nap and take care of himself.

“Our friend didn't tell me what happened last night like he usually does. I just wanted to make sure you were all right and that nothing had happened.”

He feels his heart jump at the mention of last night. First in fear of Matt actually knowing and wanting Foggy to admit it himself, then in embarrassment, and then in guilt.

He shakes his head. “Nothing out the ordinary. He walked me home like usual.”

“And nothing happened?”

“No.”

“You don't have to cover for him, Foggy. Did he do anything to hurt you?”

“Matt, no. Nothing happened. He walked me home, we talked, then he left. Just like every other night.”

Matt nods, but Foggy can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't believe him. It makes him feel bad for not telling Matt, but he isn't about to tell him he kissed the Devil of Hell's Kitchen after he expressed his displeasure about him and how much he doesn't trust the man.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Foggy asks again. Watching Matt just stand there is seriously starting to freak him out. Like he's expecting Matt to drop right there in his living room.

But just like usual, Matt brushes him off. “I'm fine, Foggy.”

“Matt, you can tell me. We're friends, you don't have to bottle things up around me. Talk to me.”

“I'm not the only one bottling things up.”

Foggy flinches. “What's that suppose to mean?”

“That you're not being honest with me.”

Foggy suppresses his rising anger with a deep sigh. “Can we please not fight? It feels like every time we're together we fight. We're like an old married couple.”

He feels slightly better when that makes Matt crack a smile. “I thought we were friends?” he asks, his voice light and amused.

“We're both. Flexible, you and I are.”

“I'll bet.”

\--

Okay, so maybe he should have known that things would have picked up at some point. After months of things being calm and steady and stable, it should be no surprise to him that shit was bound to hit the fan.

He had been walking home, the Devil as his faithful shadow. They were talking, the kiss never once coming up in conversation and for that he was grateful. One second he was laughing and the next he's being roughly grabbed by the back of his collar and is pulled backwards.

He lands on his ass, and is about to shout his displeasure when he looks up and sees that he was in fact pulled away from the danger and that the Devil is in the thick of it.

Surrounded by several men holding guns and other weapons Foggy can't quiet make out, standing perfectly still. Foggy watches with wide eyes as the man does nothing, and he feels the panic well up in his gut.

He has no idea what to do, and he's pretty sure the Devil has no idea either.

But, he should know by now to never doubt the mad man, because in a move too quick for him to follow, the man throws something, and the street light above him and the men shatters into little pieces and the light goes out, leaving them in darkness.

Foggy can still see fairly well, but it becomes obvious that it wasn't meant to rob them of sight, just to momentarily distract them so the man can equip himself.

Just as swiftly as he put the light out, the Devil pulls out his trident blades and takes them to necks of the two men directly behind him. Stabbing both through the neck and slamming them to the ground. He stands back up and then slices another man in the stomach, twirls around and embeds a blade in a mans forehead.

Foggy watches transfixed at the mans movements. Moving with a grace and fluidity of a dancer but with the precision and step of a fighter.

He's beautiful to watch, but horrifying to witness.

Then he's being yelled at, his name shouted from the battle, being told to run. And that's when he notices a man dressed similar to Matt, swinging around what looks to be a double blade on a chain.

He doesn't want to run, he doesn’t want to leave, but he really has no choice. Not if he doesn't want to face the wrath of both Matt and the Devil.

So he does.

\--

It only crosses his mind for a split second not to tell Matt. He finds himself laughing at the thought. Matt would slaughter him if he even tried to keep this from him. So he decides not to wait.

\--

He practically bursts through the doors of his childhood home, trying to cool his panic and not feel out of place. His heart is still pounding wildly and he thinks he may be shaking as he thinks about the Devil, hoping he's okay and not laying dead in the middle of the street. He looks around and sees a few workers rushing towards the door with looks of cold determination. He tries not to think too much about the ones who have their hands reaching into their jackets. When they notice that it's him, they smile, shocked at seeing him here, but fond and welcoming all the same. He tries to return them as best as he can, and when he goes to ask if anyone knows where Matt is, he hears someone bounding down the stairs.

He looks up towards the staircase, and is staring directly into Claire's eyes.

They look at each other for a moment, before they close the gap between each other and engulf each other in a hug bear hug.

“What are you doing here, kid? Are you all right?” she asks as she pulls away, her face torn between a smile and worry.

“I'm fine.” he says, and unable to help himself, he smiles back despite the emotions running through his system. “Where's Matt, I need to talk to him.”

“He's not here right now. He went out.” she says, a look on her face that he can't quite place.

“Did he say when he'll be back?”

Claire opens her mouth to say something, but a loud crash from upstairs sounds, causing them both to jump slightly and look up toward the staircase. They spare another look at each other before racing up the stairs, and to the source of where the noise was.

Claire pushes a bedroom door open, and they both watch with wide eyes as the Devil lays on the floor, covered in blood and painful looking cuts all over his body. The only indication that he's alive, is the fact that he's breathing.

“Help me move him.” Claire instructs as she rolls up her sleeves. He goes when she indicates, kneeling next to the mans body, carefully gripping him underneath the shoulders.

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I don't know.” she answers honestly as she grabs his legs, and on her count of three they lift him up and move him as carefully as they can to the infirmary down the hall.

“Gently...gently...” Claire repeats over and over as they lay him on a bed. Once he's secure on the bed, Claire starts bustling around, grabbing things and instructing him to grab things, and when he brings her everything and places them where she tells him, she fixes him with a pointed look.

“Ready to play doctor?”

He swallows. “Not really.”

She gives him small smile for his honestly, but it quickly turns sympathetic.

“I'm sorry, Foggy.”

And when Claire pulls off the mask, all Foggy can say after a beat of mid rushing silence, is, “Oh my god it makes sense.”

\--

Matt looks like someone ran him through the meat grinder and then ran him over a few times for good measure. His skin covered in deep angry gouges that made Foggy a bit queasy as he watched Claire stitched him up with a practiced ease and confidence. That didn't mean she didn't rip him a new ass-hole as she worked, not caring that the man is in so much pain he's been fading in and out of consciousness the entire time.

Scraped skin that's rubbed raw and blossoming bruises trail down his entire body once the blood is all washed away, little red cuts line his body as well as faint white ones, intertwining in pattern.

Foggy watches her work from a little bit away, not wanting to face the truth just yet. Every so often she sends him a look. Sometime worried, sometimes tired, sometimes both. But she works until everything is stitched and clean, and as she tucks Matt into the bed, she presses a kiss to his forehead and mumbles something Foggy doesn't hear.

She turns to face him, offering him a small smile. She walks over and kneels in front of him.

“Do I need to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight, too?”

That makes him smile, but it doesn’t lessen the feeling in his heart and stomach.

“I'm going to go get some sleep. Are you going to stay here?”

He nods. “Thank you.”

“It's what I'm paid to do.” she says, and he knows that it's not the only reason, but he supposes saying 'out of the kindness of my giant golden heart' would only add to the seriousness of the situation.

“I think you should get a raise.”

“I'll hold you to that.” Claire smiles, and then as she stands she presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Get some sleep. You both look like shit.” and with those words she walks out of the infirmary doors, leaving Foggy alone with the man. Which one, he doesn’t quite know.

\--

He calls in sick and requests a few days off for personal matters. He then calls Karen to tell her he had an emergency, that yes he's fine, no he doesn't need her to come over, and that he'll see her next week.

Then he waits.

\--

Matt wakes up two days later. Over the course of those days Foggy sat diligent by his bed, hoping, praying that he wakes up. Claire checked up on him every few hours. Changing his bandages and checking his vitals. She seemed worried, yet not at the same time, making it hard for Foggy to figure out if everything will be okay. He could have asked, he knows, and she would have told him, but he didn't think he'd want an answer, just in case it wasn't the one he wanted to hear.

But when the man wakes up with a strangled groan, startling Foggy away from his thoughts, Foggy almost cries in relief.

\--

It takes months for Matt to be fine again. Naturally, the man doesn't listen, going against Claire's orders and running around Hell's Kitchen doing more bad to himself than good. Because of his nightly prowls through the streets, he prolonged his recovery by weeks, much to his and Claire's annoyance.

Foggy had gone back to work after a few days, leaving Matt in very capable hands. But everyday after work he made his way back. Checking in and helping out any way he could.

He hasn't said much to Matt. A few words here or there. He doesn't know what to say or if there is anything to say.

So he doesn't say a thing.

\--

“It was you the entire time.” Foggy says when he finds Matt suiting up. He leans against the door frame and simply watches. “All that time and you never said anything. Not a thing.”

“My feelings for you have never been exactly subtle, Foggy.” Matt says quietly as he gets himself ready.

“I know.” he says, and he does knows. He can see it when he looks back on their times together. On both their times together. It makes him want to laugh, really. He doesn’t know how this one went so far over his head. How he didn't notice any of it.

“But I knew you never wanted that life...this life. I knew we would never work out no matter how badly I'd want us to.”

“I know.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Matt says, finally turning to look at him, frustrated.

Foggy shrugs. “I know, Matt. What more do you want me to say? Everything you're saying is true. I would also like us to work out...but we wouldn't. No matter how badly we'd want us to.”

Matt turns his face away from him and down towards the floor. He sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He looks so small right now. Even in his black attire, fully equipped with blades and other little weapons. Foggy wants to wrap him up, put him to bed, kiss his forehead and hold him and tell him everything is going to be all right.

It breaks his heart.

“I love you, Matt.

And he thinks he just broke Matt's.

Matt closes the distance between them, placing gentle hand on Foggy's arms, pulling him until they're touch completely. He has this pained look on his face as he presses their foreheads together, their noses touching. Like he wants to press forward and close the only gap between their bodies, but can't. And it pains Foggy to think that he only had the courage to kiss him behind a mask. That it wasn't really Matt kissing him, but the Devil.

So he presses forward. Slotting their lips together slowly and as softly as he can as not to spook Matt. And finally, when Matt presses back just as gently and cautiously, Foggy feels himself loosen inside.

 

**Author's Note:**

> More like Men In Black, amirite?
> 
> HAPPY BACK TO THE FUTURE DAY!!! Back to the Future is my original number one. 
> 
> Not beta read. 
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/


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